


Hazy Memories

by Omegastudent



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Swearing, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omegastudent/pseuds/Omegastudent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short scene set almost a month after the Alpha Pack is gone.  Derek and Stiles sit in the camaro accompanied by a bottle of JD.  Stiles has a few troubling memories and future worries on his mind.  Derek battles with his own fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazy Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasingshadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingshadows/gifts).



The funny thing was that Derek actually liked Stiles’ jeep.  Not that he’d ever admit it of course.  Let’s be honest, that should go without saying.  Yet nevertheless, for the umpteenth (twenty-second if Derek was being honest with himself about keeping track) time the Alpha had spent a good portion of his night driving around town in his camaro with the pale skinny human as his ~~lovely and lanky co-pilot~~ passenger. 

They were currently parked on a fairly high ridge that overlooked a good portion of the town.  Derek told himself that it offered a strategically superior view and the fact that many a couple would have found the white and blue stars above mirrored by the yellow and orange lights of the town below rather romantic… was purely a coincidence.  Not that it seemed to be working either way. 

A few hours ago when Derek had swung by the park down the street from the Stilinski household to pick up Stiles, instead of his usual baseball bat, the underage teenager had a bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in one hand.  Hogging most of it to himself, Stiles had put a major dent in the bottle by the time Derek parked the car on the ridge and called it quits for the night. Currently, Stiles’ was cradling the bottle of JD firmly between his thighs, taking a swallow every now and then and seemingly oblivious to everything outside of Derek’s car.  Stiles was pretty far gone, but didn’t seem to be in danger of overdoing it if he stopped sooner rather than later. 

Yet even drunk, the energetic young man couldn’t quite stay still; Stiles’ right foot had been softly thumping up and down almost incessantly for the past hour.  Derek didn’t know if the object of his burgeoning romantic interest was too wasted to keep in time to the beat on the radio or if he just had a serious case of restless leg syndrome.  He honestly would have found it a bit adorable if it wasn’t for the bottle.  By Derek’s reckoning, it was only a matter of time before the younger man got unwillingly carried away into unconsciousness.          

            It was less than a month since the remaining survivors of the Alpha pack had finally been driven out of town and for once there weren’t any known threats lurking amongst the cold night’s shadows, eager to rip into the seemingly innocent denizens of Beacon Hills.  Yet despite the lack of immediate danger, not a day had gone by after the last Alpha fled that Scott had approached Derek and suggested they begin setting out on regular patrols.  Thus began Scott’s, Isaac’s, and Derek’s nightly forays.  At the time, Derek hadn’t seen any downsides.  After all, he’d learnt the value of vigilance the hard way.  He simply hadn’t counted on the fact that when Stiles found out about it, he’d absolutely refused to remain inactive any longer.

As much as Derek had begun to inwardly enjoy these rides, he couldn’t take credit for their instigation.  Scott was the one who came up with the idea of teaming up the weakest member with the strongest in an effort to ~~provide his stubborn-ass best friend with as much protection as possible~~ balance their strengths.  So Scott paired up with Isaac while Derek got ~~to cruise around~~ stuck with Stiles.

Almost a month had gone by without any real action.  The only exception had been when Derek and Stiles had come across an obvious carjacking late one night.  Derek had been quick to make certain that the thug was unconscious before Stiles had fully extricated himself and his aluminum baseball bat from the car.  Stiles hadn’t said anything about it as he used one of Derek’s phones to call in an anonymous tip in an altered voice and Derek was glad that they’d simply gotten into the car and drove away.  He didn’t like treating Stiles like a frail human, but he made a promise to Scott and after having seen the outline of a handgun in the guy’s jacket pocket… he didn’t doubt that he’d made the right choice.

But that one instance aside, they’d spent night after night watching a whole lot of nothing.  For the first few nights when the patrols had just started, Stiles was overly eager and alert.  At the time, Derek felt like he was sitting next to a bundle of nervous energy more than an actual person.  Any attempt at conversation made on his part was quickly silenced as the teenager shushed him with half his head sticking out of the car listening for “any baddies that were afoot”.  The first time it happened, Derek had thanked Stiles in a completely genuine voice for setting up a safety net in case his vastly superior werewolf hearing didn’t pick anything up.  That earned him a glare, a snarky reply about Derek’s extremely well earned trustworthiness, and some half muttered comment about pretty boy sarcastic wolves.  All in all Derek was happy with the result.  There were far worse things than being thought of as pretty.

However as the nights went by with nothing happening, Stiles’ energy became less focused on the task at hand and more directed towards the muscular werewolf sitting a few inches away.  Their first few talks quickly devolved into snarky and sarcastic battles of wit.  At first Derek found that they were a decent way to occasionally vent his frustration and boredom, but gradually they started to lose their edge and almost began approaching the elusive friendly competition territory. 

Even these days, Derek didn’t exactly get out much and despite his loner wardrobe; he did enjoy socializing to some extent.  It wasn’t too long before he started looking forward to his mental wrestling matches with the awkward yet not unattractive young man.  Despite his opponents physical limitations, Derek had to admit that in this arena, Stiles could hold his own and then some.

But as the nights turned into weeks, Stiles began to offer to come along less and less.  To be honest, Derek was actually surprised by Stiles phone call earlier that night asking to come with.  He hadn’t gotten one of those in the past three days and Derek had begun to worry.  Tonight’s performance of Stiles’ blunt weapon being played by the bottle of JD… didn’t exactly alleviate Derek’s anxiety.

            Stiles abruptly turned around in his seat and gave Derek a strange look.  The werewolf realized suddenly that he’d been caught staring and began shifting his gaze in a semi-panic to break eye contact.  Looking around for an excuse, he decided that focusing on the bottle currently nested up against Stiles’ crotch seemed like a good idea.  Oddly enough, it worked, as Stiles assumed the older man was asking for another taste.  Stiles huffed in apparent consternation as he handed the bottle over to the “I’m-only-interested-in-your-alcohol-designated-hey-look-I-can’t-get-drunk-driver” without realizing he said his characterization aloud.

            Derek snorts in amusement before taking a swig and feeling the warmth from Stiles’ thighs that had soaked into the glass.  He didn’t normally drink since the “main benefit” didn’t apply to his kind, but he’d sampled enough over the past several years in an attempt to fit in with the general populace to develop an appreciation of the taste without coming to outright enjoy it.  Handing the bottle back to its owner (or more likely its owner’s son) Derek waits as Stiles lazily grasps at it causing his long skinny fingers to cover most of Derek’s.  They both freeze for a few moments as Derek’s eyes lock onto the younger man’s face while Stiles’ own are staring in puzzlement at his own hand covering the older man’s.  Eventually Stiles sluggishly comes to an understanding in his muddled mind as he looks into Derek’s eyes staring right back at him.  The younger man blushes and snatches his hand and the bottle away.

            Derek isn’t used to dealing with drunken people he actually cares about.  He takes a moment to ponder what’s going on before he hesitantly asks, “Hey, are you okay?”  Apparently Stiles’ sarcasm engine goes on the fritz when swimming in alcohol judging by the way he simply huffs and turns around to look out the side window into the forest.  Derek still isn’t sure how to proceed so he goes back to his old tried and true and remains silent.

            Stiles apparently still hasn’t noticed the gorgeous scene before him as he becomes interested in a squirrel that appears to be looking for food way after it’s bedtime.  The furry little animal curiously hops from one spot to another; occasionally stopping to twitch it’s little nose in search of an early breakfast or a very late dinner.  Stiles takes another mouthful of whiskey while watching the cute little thing and Derek begins to wonder if he should take the bottle away. 

Suddenly the squirrel freezes in place.  Its eyes go wide and its ears twitch.  Stiles assumes that it must have finally noticed the car a dozen feet away when a large brown owl swoops down and clutches the squirrel in its talons before carrying it’s shrieking meal off into the trees.  Stiles spews the remaining JD in his mouth all over his door and window.  Derek’s jaw actually drops and he begins quickly searching for a rag.  Stiles starts vehemently swearing in a partially slurred voice, “Oh my god!  Are you fucking kidding me?!  Are you fucking serious?!?!  Do I really need any more reminders about the un-fucking-fairness of life?!” 

While Derek is inwardly freaking out about his car, he’s still paying most of his attention to the younger man.  Especially once Stiles begins letting things slip that Derek didn’t think he’d ever say when sober.  “Fourteen!  Fourteen fights I had to sit on the damn sidelines and watch as my friends battle for their fucking lives and the lives of the completely oblivious people in this town!  And don’t even get me started on how you furry assholes heal from almost anything!  That shit still has to fucking hurt.  I’ve assisted in killing three people and outright killed one all by my fucking self and I’m not even legally able to drink yet,” Stiles huffs.  Seeing Derek twisting this way and that making his shirt stretch over his muscled torso caused Stiles to blush again.  “Yeah and that’s another thing Mr. Fuzzy Adonis!  Why the fuck can’t you at least give some indication of where your interests lie?!  Seriously if it can’t happen, it can’t happen.  I know you don’t owe me shit and it’s totally not my business, but oh my god would it be nice for you to have the courtesy to put me out of my misery if that’s the case!  It’s not like you can just keeping on going like you are!  Time’s going to fucking run out on you and me and Scott, and every-fucking-one else sooner or later.  I mean geezus just think… one month Derek… one fucking month to the day… hey what the hell do you think you’re doing?”          

Eventually Derek comes very close to admitting defeat at finding something suitable to clean up the whiskey seeping into his beloved camaro, when he looks down.  Not really liking his dark shirt anyways, Derek takes it off and leans over the still sputtering human to try and clean things up as much as possible.  He has no idea how to help or even engage Stiles about the issues he’s bringing up.  Several of them could be interpreted too closely to his own hopes, and he’s learned to shut things like that down to avoid the inevitable pain, so they end up simply confusing him.  With the amount of whiskey that Stiles has already imbibed, it’s unlikely that he’ll remember anything about this night anyways, yet Derek decides to try and figure out how to broach the topics he understands one at a time with the young man over the course of the next few weeks.  Stiles has been entirely silent as the older half-naked man leans over him and cleans up his mess.  Derek is just about finished cleaning up as much as he can expect to from this angle when Stiles’ warm hands firmly push him out of his lap.

Derek looks at Stiles a little bewildered at the intense glare he’s receiving.  “Are you even listening?!  One month Derek!  One month to the day…  does that even mean anything to you?”  Derek is honestly lost.  The answer Stiles obviously wants to hear is yes; but the real one is obviously no.  Derek tries to think back to what was happening a month ago and comes up with any number of important moments concerning the Alpha pack threat.  Not making any headway, his heavy brows knit together in confusion.  Stiles glares at Derek, straightens himself up, takes in an almost dramatically deep breath, and practically shouts at the older man, “You almost died asshole!  You don’t remember that Alpha woman kicking the crap out of you?  You don’t remember her smiling as she literally walked all over you, digging her toe claws into your fucking legs and stomach?  You don’t remember her bending down and leaning over you in a mockingly intimate embrace just to prove how helpless you were?  You don’t remember her arrogance as she completely ignored the fucking human kid and got ready to rip your fucking throat out?  You don’t remem…” Stiles voice catches and a pair of tears trail down his birth-marked cheeks.  He gathers himself together and continues in a much more subdued tone, “You don’t remember when I bas… when I bashed her head in with my bat?  You don’t remember how I kept on swinging until… until there wasn’t anything left above the ne… neck that could ever possibly regenerate?”  Stiles’ chest falls on taking in Derek’s completely shocked and blank stare.  “Derek… you don’t remember when I killed someone to save your life?”  Stiles asks with a note of pleading.

His short speech must have drained what little energy the younger man had left as Stiles sort of deflates and crumples into his seat.  Derek would be the first to admit that he’s so far out of his depth it stopped being funny 19,000 leagues ago.  He chooses to go with the truth as a last resort.  “Honestly Stiles?  No, I don’t remember that.  Kali drugged me with wolfsbane before you showed up.  I can’t remember anything about that entire day… except for you… covered in blood… holding me while I slowly healed.”

Stiles eyelids have been drooping every now and again, yet he’s still awake enough to take in what Derek just told him.  A third tear detaches itself and Stiles wipes it away.  “Fuck it,” he slurs, taking another swig of JD, leaning over across his seat to Derek, grabbing the man behind his neck to pull him in closer, lifting his head with his gaze fixed upon the man’s mouth, getting within half an inch of touching Derek lips with his own… and then collapsing into unconsciousness with his head falling onto Derek’s muscular chest.

Derek’s simultaneously shocked and utterly relieved.  Shocked because there isn’t any other way of interpreting Stiles’ intention.  He tried to kiss him.  Period.  Stiles tried to _kiss_ him.  And relieved because if this goes anywhere, Derek wants Stiles to remember their first kiss.  Hazy memories are fine, but not when it involves important ones.  Derek can wait; he’s good at that.  Gently settling Stiles back in his seat the older man begins chuckling to himself in a way that he hasn’t in a very long time.  Inwardly soaring on the wings of Stiles’ revelation, Derek buckles up his co-pilot, and takes him home.

 

Mini-Bonus scene because why the hell not?! :D

 

Seeing the police cruiser parked in the Stilinski household’s driveway, Derek focuses his hearing until he can pick up the gentle snores of the sheriff.  Gently lifting the slumbering man out of his car, Derek cautiously walks in through the front door of the Stilinski household and carries Stiles up to his room.  Taking off Stiles’ shoes causes the younger man to briefly stir, “Derek?  Hmm, What… Derek stay…”  Derek, still buoyed by the possibilities of what this may yet become, raises his hand on the impulse to run a finger down Stiles’ cheek, but stops himself.  Looking down at Stiles, Derek smiles and answers, “Another time perhaps…” before quietly making his way back to his own home and a sleepless night of hope.                       


End file.
